KeithWikle.com

How often have I paddled from South Haven pier towards Van Buren state park? Maybe in the hundreds of times? I don’t know. It is different every time. After kayak surfing in San Diego, I feel like I’ve cheated on a very loyal, but tempestuous milky skinned midwestern girl in favor of a more tanned athletic Pacific coast one. So in order to assuage my guilt, I think I have to say something sentimental about my last two trips to Lake Michigan.

I’ve gone out twice since I’ve been back. The bright azure clear skies and cool southwest breezes offered unparalleled opportunities to see the shore of south east Lake Michigan up close and personal. I often cruise past the tumbled concrete pilings, rusty iron shore breaks, the truck tires, to get down to the dunes. But I decided to inspect her, warts and all this Sunday.

I just got word from Conor Mihell, the organizer of the Naturally Superiors Greenland Symposium that I will be assisting with traditional paddling instruction in Wawa Ontario for their 2nd Annual Traditional Paddling Symposium.

Naturally Superiors is situated right in the mouth of the Michipicoten River mouth, near Wawa Ontario on Lake Superior. The Rock Island lodge is the coolest place on Lake Superior I’ve ever seen. The site is a zen-rock garden for paddling. The first time I ever saw it I wanted to move-in for good. The pre-Cambrian granite on the lake shore crops up organically around the lodge which is seated high on the shore with a terrific view of the harbor. It is Valhalla and Shangri-la all rolled into one tidy package for paddlers who dare to seek her out.

Doug Van Doren and Bonnie Perry will be coming to instruct at the event. August 24-26th. I will strive to bring what I know to the symposium.

For details on how to sign up, I would mosey over to Naturally Superior’s Web site. Also you can download the .

If you’ve never been to Naturally Superior Adventures or the North Shore of Lake Superior you really have to see it. The instruction should be top notch and the lodge accommodations are amazing.

The Symposium Details:
August 24-26th
Rock Island Lodge-Naturally Superior Adventures, Wawa Ontario Canada

Now as always, I am waiting for the storms of spring to bring some waves my way. The waiting is killing me. Watching the lake cam when it’s calm is like watching a television tuned to a dead channel.
After a while you think you start to see a pattern where there is none.

My father called me yesterday. We chatted about his soccer games and the wonderful kayak video Wesley posted about. He asked me a strange question in a hesitating demeanor quite unlike him. It’s a familial trait, where if you have something to say, your mouth just opens and words tumble out without any forethought for what the other person might hear.

He asked me if (in my High school days when I was a manically expressive teenager who was confronted and often bullied), I thought of seeking some sort of violent reprisal in the way Harris and Klebold from Columbine, and Cho Seung-Hui did.

I can say honestly that I didn’t. In some cases I can’t even remember the names or the faces of the kids who bullied me. Funny how time fades all things. I do remember the kids I pushed around, and twinge at the edge of sleep some nights unable to forgive myself for what I might have said or done. When I think about how it made them feel, I feel small. No one is invincible from the socialization machine that is public school. I really wish I had the money to send Gabriel and Isabella somewhere else. But such is life, my parents didn’t want to send me either.

I had too many doors open to me, two well educated parents who are married and in love, solidly if not overly middle-class. I had theatre, writing, soccer, sailing, music, and lots of friends to carry me along. Even when things looked especially bleak, I always knew there was something good around the corner. This may reveal my inner optimist, but I never got the darkening tunnel vision that I imagine Harris, Klebold and Cho Seung-Hui might have experienced. A world without options is a dark place. I never went to that place. I could always see a sunny green pitch with a round ball rolling over it even when things especially seemed bleak. I can’t speak for anyone else, I just know why I was able to see my way out.

The literary model in my brain wants to say that these young men are part of a culture of affluent waste. For the most part they are part of a world where there is too much to choose from, and therefore so much to be disappointed with. Too much to not have. Either a pretty girl, a flashy car, or whatever and when their efforts fail to deliver the life they seem entitled to, they want to burn it all down. A sort of Post-modern viking mentality. When Norway became very crowded in the 8th century and all the tribal chieftans started to unify under Harald of Norway. Life got very limited for young men in Norway. They began to build ships and branch out into bullying the rest of the North Atlantic into giving them (what I am sure they saw) as their due. And if they liked the looks of the place they might stick around, (Orkney, Dublin, Iceland, Greenland). Maybe we need to start some Outward Bound programs for young men where they build viking ships. I would totally sign up!

The Joy Division song that comes to mind, is Atmosphere. If there is a possibility of dialog with a young man in that dark place; this song speaks to it, eerily from the grave of Ian Curtis. Someone needed to open a door for them to let a little light in.

Sometimes I see these young men like giant pieces of fragile ice
stuck somewhere halfway between falling in the sea, and hanging on to Antarctica. The sun eventually just melts them down and they fall into the sea. If we are lucky they do not collide with us, if we are unlucky, they sink us all.

Atmosphere

Walk in silence,
Dont walk away, in silence.
See the danger,
Always danger,
Endless talking,
Life rebuilding,
Dont walk away.

Walk in silence,
Dont turn away, in silence.
Your confusion,
My illusion,
Worn like a mask of self-hate,
Confronts and then dies.
Dont walk away.

People like you find it easy,
Naked to see,
Walking on air.
Hunting by the rivers,
Through the streets,
Every corner abandoned too soon,
Set down with due care.
Dont walk away in silence,
Dont walk away.

I think I may have single speed fever. I went through a lot of bike parts this year on Michigan roads with salt, ice, slush, flotsam and jetsam. I like the flexibility of a 10 speed cassette, but the maintenance when you ride every day is a bit much. I don’t think I will ever consider a single speed a primary bike, (maybe?) but I can’t justify a new cassette and chain every 9 months. The wife will kill me.

So I’ve begun researching a few single speed options. The Bianchi San Jose is one, as is a custom Surly Cross Check.

I have to say the simplicity part appeals to me, it is like traditional paddling, it works due to the lack of fewer working parts. Less can actually be more, you just have to build up the stamina.

Laura and I went to the people’s republic of Ann Arbor for a show last night. Subset Rubdown, and Xiu Xiu were slotted together to play the Blind Pig.

Rant one
Turns out some sort of a miscommunication with the booking agent happened. The doors weren’t open until 8:00. Sunset Rubdown got to play for forty minutes, and Xiu Xiu got to play for twenty-five. Then the house lights came up and big men in tight tee-shirts with big muscles began bullying us out the door. Apparently they booked another show to start right after Sunset Rubdown and Xiu Xiu at 10:15. Maybe this was communicated to the two bands, maybe it wasn’t, don’t know. Overall it was the suckiest arrangement I’ve ever heard of for a show, other than Shane MacGowan being too drunk to play with the Pogues. So if anyone from the Blind Pig reads this… perhaps a little consideration should have been given to us sorry bastards who drove two hours to see the show, never mind us poor over thirty suckers who have to acquire babysitters through underhanded deals with Mephistopheles. Ok rant one over. On to rant two.

Rant two
Small club shows should be non-smoking for the love of all that is holy. That club was so filled with cigarette smoke I almost died. The oxygen quality in a West Virginia coal mine might be better. I’ve never been tempted closer to injuring a random stranger than when they lit up in front of me for the fourth time in 10 minutes when the room was already so smoky it had gone past gaseous to solid. Ok rant two over.

The Typewriter Museum of course.

The museum is rife with imagery for the aspiring historical nut looking to find everything from typewriter postcards, unusual models, and even typewriter erotica. Yes you heard me. Scantily clad, provocative women wrapping their stocking draped legs across the keyboard of a 1920 Remington portable may not do it for every man. But they have their own web sites!

I really recommend taking a look at Garage sales this spring to see if you can find an Underwood manual, despite their ubiquity, everyone should have one when the EMP hits so you can keep blogging it old style.

If you can believe it there is an amazing diversity in typewriters. Upstrike, Downstrike, frontstrike, and bizarre single element machines.

I think I’m going to have to take another look at the collection and see what’s what!!!